Knowing Love
by IAmTheMessenger
Summary: Bellatrix Black knew love. She knew men, she knew sex, she knew the tricks of the trade, and she understood the power of submission. Submission, that turned the cards in her favor. And Bellatrix always got her way in love. Tribute to Bellatrix Black. RIP.


**Bellatrix is one of my favorite characters, and after seeing DH2, I **_**had **_**to pay tribute to her some way or another…so this is my farewell present to the great Bellatrix Black. Don't flame me for accuracy or anything, I tried to make it as realistic as possible, and most of it is made up. **

**Long live Bellatrix Black. RIP. Enjoy:**

Bellatrix Black knew love.

She knew men, she knew sex, she knew the tricks of the trade better than most in her family. She knew, unlike her Master, how to lure those of the opposite sex – and, in some cases, of the same – to her bed, and understood the full power of that kind of submission, the kind that would deal the cards in her favor. And Bellatrix _always_ got her way in love. Always.

Bellatrix Black could make a man plead for her, grovel at her knees while wringing his hands for her to lie with him. She could give them a satisfaction that none other could. She knew everything there was to know about all types of love that existed…well, almost.

There were exceptions.

Rodolphus was, if anyone, the first on Bellatrix's list of men she utterly detested. She hated being known by her legal surname, Lestrange, and in all instances would correct those who dared call her such with a _Crucio! _and a life-threatening reminder to be recognized as Black. Bellatrix Black, she thought, sounded much more independent, commanding, dominant, than Bellatrix Lestrange. Lestrange made her a wife, the inferior in her – their - marriage. If there was one thing Bellatrix was _not, _it was just that, and she never failed to make a point of being called Black, and _not ever _Lestrange.

Aside from the name, she had her reasons for hating her husband. For one, he was awful in bed. Along with that he lacked in proper hygiene, and although Bellatrix wasn't much better off than him, _she _at least had sexual appeal, whereas _he_ was…well, he was a scrawny five-and-a-half inches at best, and with an equally long sex drive. He also tended to act out the part of the worthier in their relationship, which constantly drove Bellatrix insane – or, more insane than she was to begin with. They both knew that in the eyes of the Dark Lord, Bellatrix was clearly favored much more than Rodolphus, which was most likely his reason for wanting to show some signs of supremacy whenever he could, or whenever the Dark Lord was not around watching. In the beginning of their marriage Bellatrix thought she had made it obvious to him that she was not going to kneel at his feet or have a hot meal on the table for him after the day's work, but that she would come and go as she pleased, and do what she felt like, when she felt like it. It must not have come across well enough to Rodolphus, because the first time he came home from work and she wasn't dutifully awaiting his arrival at the door like a good housewife should, he slapped her across the face with a dirty hand the moment she passed the threshold.

"_You whore! Where have you been?" _

_Shaking from anger and the force of his blow, Bellatrix stood up slowly and faced her – her husband. She wanted to spit in his good-for-nothing face and tell him he was ugly and that she was going to leave him forever, but her Lord would never permit it…Instead she drew out her wand, not hesitating to hear Rodolphus's hasty apologies or lack of - it didn't matter - and shouted 'Crucio!' at the top of her lungs. A smile lingered on her scarlet lips as she watched the man she supposedly loved thrash on the floor in intolerable pain. She would teach him. He would learn to respect Bellatrix Black. _

Despite an unmistakable gap in Bellatrix's skills as a witch and Rodolphus's as a wizard, he nonetheless continued to pretend as though he was as good as, or better, than his wife in every sense. He showed her affection when they were together amongst other Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort, but she saw right through the shiny façade. Rodolphus would never love Bellatrix Black, nor would she love him. To that she vowed, and never in her life was that vow broken.

Infatuation proved to be one of Bellatrix's few weaknesses, as she learned in her sixth year at Hogwarts after doing something that, in hindsight, she shouldn't have. The Firewhisky had gone straight to her brain and Bellatrix wasn't thinking when she grabbed Lucius Malfoy roughly by the collar, whispered words incoherent with lust through a cigarette-tarnished mouth, and shared a bed (or couch, rather) with the blonde boy for the night.

"_I know you want me, Malfoy," Bellatrix slurred, tipsy and swaying in the most seductive manner. Her wild hair was loose and ran untamed over her shoulders, down her back. Her dark eyes bored into Lucius Malfoy's through a hazy lens of longing with a wanton need for him, and she erased all traces of the other Black, the one who was supposed to be in Bellatrix's place. _

"_Bellatrix, I – I don't think –" _

"_Oh, come on, Malfoy, just one night…" She knew that she would get what she wanted sooner or later. Bellatrix _always_ got her way, and tonight would be no different. _

"_What about your sister – what about Narcissa?"_

"_Narcissa?" Bellatrix spoke the name as though she had never heard of a Narcissa Black in her life. _

"_Narcissa's a tight little virgin, Malfoy, and she's not here right now, is she? But I am…I'm right here…" Pressing her breasts subtly against his chest, she knew she had won._

The aftermath of that one night outweighed the events that took place between Bellatrix and Lucius. After Narcissa found out, which didn't take very long, she exploded at Bellatrix, and it was the only time in her life that she could remember being scared of her little sister. Bellatrix had learned her lesson; infatuation and love were two very different concepts, and if a copious amount of alcohol was all it took to blur the lines between them…she would have to be more careful about who she was around while drinking.

It was another love, however, a very different type of love, that took control of both her heart and mind, that molded and shaped her into a person of no pity, respect, or acknowledgement for the truth. She believed what she wanted to; that the Dark Lord loved her, that he would understand her painful marriage and how inferior Rodolphus was to her, that he would someday return her ardent declarations of undying devotion for him. As a teen and in her early years of adulthood, Bellatrix had been the regular kind of evil; smoking, drinking, selling herself to men for a couple Galleons a night and torturing them afterwards, were all part of the norm for Bellatrix Black. But when she joined Lord Voldemort, she changed – for the better or worse, it was difficult to judge. What Bellatrix felt for Voldemort was more powerful, and dangerous, than both love and infatuation together: it was an intense, acute, fervid lust acquired over a period of time that grew with each passing day. What once was a Slytherin harlot morphed into a sorceress of unmatched, feral capacity for witchcraft and a constant want for revenge, pain. Voldemort turned Bellatrix Black into the most feared witch in the country, all the while drawing her closer and closer to him and feeding her tales of his so-called 'need' for her, which she devoured like a starving lioness. She knew herself to be his most trusted follower, the one he leaned on most for support, the one he sought above all others in times of darkness and uncertainty, and for some time, she was. But it wasn't until Bellatrix dared admit her yearning for her Lord, the yearning that had grown and developed over the years and that could be fulfilled by no other than him, the darkest wizard to match the darkest witch of the age, that her warped, manipulated mind came to realize that her feelings went unreturned.

"_My Lord." Her voice was soft, unnaturally so. _

"_Yes, Bellatrix?" The high-pitched reply sent shivers of anticipation and ardor up Bellatrix's spine. The way he said her name…_

"_My Lord, I was merely wondering if you could answer a question of mine that has kept me perturbed for quite some time now…I don't know who else to go to but you," Voldemort turned around to face her; Bellatrix's milky breasts spilled out of her tight corset and her eyes were the eyes of a hunter. _

"_Continue." _

"_My Lord – I need –"_

"_Tell me what you need, Bellatrix," The falsetto voice seemed to reach out and stroke her cheek in encouragement. _

"_I need _you_, My Lord!" She breathlessly heaved out the words into the empty air between them. A pregnant pause filled the gap for, what seemed like, days. Bellatrix stared unabashedly into her Lord's face, searching for some sign of approval, or perhaps a clue that he felt the same way about her. He took three steps and closed the area between their bodies, and Bellatrix felt her heart beating faster than it ever had in her life. The mere physical proximity brought a spasm of warmth between her thighs. This, she knew, was the moment. _

"_You must never say that again." Sharp fingers raked across Bellatrix's cheek, and she cried out in pain. Crimson beads of blood rose to her skin, the red on white creating a stunning contrast. She fell to the floor in a heap, looking around for her Lord, but he was gone. _

The occurrence had convinced Bellatrix that she was somehow not good enough, that she was unworthy, that she must devote herself to Lord Voldemort utterly and completely if she was to win his carnal hunger. It never crossed her mind that Voldemort was not a creature of love, or even of lust (or perhaps a lust for killing), and that try as she might, Bellatrix would never be able to seduce her Lord.

Bellatrix Black knew love.

She knew how to make a man grunt in pleasure, she knew how to make a woman cry in pain, she knew deceit and lies and the dangers of short-lived passion. She knew about lack of love and about love's opposite, a cruel and cold hate.

Bellatrix Black knew love; or at least, she thought she did. But time passed and grew to prove her wrong; that while infatuation, lust, and desire were certainly tactics in the idiotic game, love itself was an entirely different being. One night with a certain Malfoy was not love, marriage to a coward was not love, and a sexual craving for power that went unreciprocated was _not _love.

Bellatrix Black had always gotten her way in love, or what she had thought was love, but it wasn't until the last seconds of her life, when Molly Weasley stepped in front of her children and refused to crumple and die at her feet like countless others had, that she saw what love really was; a thing of raw and unconditional beauty, that she had never, in all her days and years, experienced.

Bellatrix Black died knowing the smell of sex and the sound of pleasure and the feel of skin on skin, but also with the realization that while she thought she had known all there was to know about love, she had never really felt the real thing at all.

**Not very long, I know, but I hope you liked it anyway. Review are friends, if you've got a minute to spare. **

**RIP Bellatrix!**


End file.
